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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152896">Girlfriend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinism/pseuds/winwinism'>winwinism</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Oikawa Tooru, Canon Universe, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, Top Iwaizumi Hajime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:33:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinism/pseuds/winwinism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>The serve toss is a bit off, Iwaizumi can tell; but she makes up for it with the execution--raw power wound tight around a column of hard-won control, then released. <i>Snap.</i> Like a rubber band. </p>
  <p>Iwaizumi doesn’t realize she’s bitten her lip until it starts to sting.</p>
</blockquote>The night before a practice match, Iwaizumi helps Oikawa unwind.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>231</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Girlfriend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this fic in 2017 after writing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507658">Hands</a>. Now that I'm officially in my second Haikyuu phase, I finally got around to finishing it. Never say never!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yo, Iwaizumi.” </p><p>Iwaizumi looks up mid-stretch to find Matsukawa regarding her from the doorway, a towel thrown over her shoulder and a hand propped on her hip. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Make sure she doesn’t go overboard, ‘kay? </p><p>Iwaizumi smiles. “Well, aren’t you sweet.”</p><p>“Don’t want her fucking up tomorrow’s match for us, is all.” </p><p>“Sure. Hold up, I got this.” Twisting to face the court, Iwaizumi holds a hand up to her cheek and shouts: “Oi, Shittykawa!” </p><p>“<em>Nnngh!</em>” </p><p>“You done out there?” Oikawa lands from what is admittedly a pretty vicious jump serve and crumples forward, hands on her knees. She doesn’t look over. “Practice match tomorrow, better rest up!”</p><p>Without replying, Oikawa straightens and wipes the sweat from her forehead, then fetches another volleyball, bouncing it a few times before her next serve. The serve toss is a bit off, Iwaizumi can tell; but she makes up for it with the execution--raw power wound tight around a column of hard-won control, then released. <em>Snap</em>. Like a rubber band. </p><p>Iwaizumi doesn’t realize she’s bitten her lip until it starts to sting. </p><p>“You there?” Matsukawa says, a smirk evident in her voice. Iwaizumi scowls over her shoulder. </p><p>“Shut it.” She rolls her neck, glances back over at Oikawa. “Anyway, you saw. I gave it my best shot.”</p><p>“Best shot, my ass.”</p><p>“This early? Give it a few hours, then we’ll talk. I’m open to suggestions, by the way.”</p><p>Matsukawa crosses her arms, head cocked. “She’s <em>your </em>fucking girlfriend, Iwaizumi. I’m sure you can figure something out.”  </p><p>Iwaizumi rolls her eyes. <em>Girlfriend</em>. She’s always thought the term was a bit too trite to be applied to whatever she and Oikawa share. They’ve been friends for some fourteen years, know enough about each other--and sure as hell bicker enough--to pass for an old married couple. Compared to that, girlfriend sounds so...temporary. Girlfriends are the women Iwaizumi’s older brother brings home from university--here one week, gone the next. Not like Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Steadfast. As natural as breathing.</p><p>But then, there are those times she finds herself thinking otherwise--like during matches, when Oikawa lands a service ace or nails a difficult toss, an entire crowd brought to their feet at the sight of Miyagi’s finest setter in action. Then, Iwaizumi will claim the label with pride. <em>Hell yeah. That’s my fucking girlfriend</em>. </p><p>She shakes herself out of her thoughts. “Whatever, eyebrows. I hear you.” </p><p>“<em>Eyebrows?</em> Wow, someone’s prickly today. Whatever happened to nice Iwa-senpai?”</p><p>Iwaizumi levels her with a deadpan look, and says, “She’s dead, and you killed her by insulting her inalterable physical characteristics for three <em>goddamn </em>years.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, shorty. Anyway, I gotta head out, Hanamaki’s waiting for me. Probably.” She moves to exit the gym, but pauses and nods towards Oikawa. The setter is currently meditating on her next serve, face screwed up in some obscure expression of concentration. “Don’t let her, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I got it. Geez.” Matsukawa lets the door slam behind her, leaving Iwaizumi feeling oddly flustered. </p><p>It’s the girlfriend comment. She and the other third years, they don’t often play that card, knowing better to needle each other about things that genuinely embarrass them. Though, on some level, Iwaizumi can’t say she minds it. </p><p><em>I’m sure you can figure something out</em>.</p><p>Iwaizumi snorts, suddenly. She wonders if Matsukawa considered the implication of her words. She probably did. </p><p>Iwaizumi finishes her stretches and stands, then crosses the gym to where Oikawa’s gearing up for another serve. She leans against the wall, folds her arms over her chest as she watches Oikawa throw up another serve toss without the slightest indication that she’s heard Iwaizumi’s approach. <em>Okay then</em>, Iwaizumi thinks at the smack of Oikawa’s palm against synthetic leather. Her stifled grunt of effort, the echo of the ball’s landing on the opposite endline moments later. <em>So that’s how it’s going to go</em>.</p><p>“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi drawls. Oikawa turns around to get another ball but doesn’t look up. “You heard me.” </p><p>Oikawa shoots her a look, then, something between a pout and a glare, turns around with a ball in her hands in a huff. “Spring high’s next month, Iwa-chan. I have to practice.”  </p><p>“Won’t be any use to us if you go overworking yourself again.” </p><p>“I won’t overwork myself. I’m very self-aware.” </p><p>Iwaizumi huffs. “Oikawa, self-aware. That’s a new one.”</p><p>“You’re mean! And I don’t care,” she says, readying for her next serve. “I know what’s best for the team.” </p><p>Iwaizumi mulls that over. Checks her watch. Christ, it’s already late. But they could do this all night. </p><p>She yawns, stretching her arms above her head in a way she knows will catch Oikawa’s attention. “Well, I’ll be heading out. I’m beat, and still got a test to study for.” </p><p>“Iwa-chan wants to study?” Oikawa says, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. “Have you hit your head?” </p><p>“Oi!” Iwaizumi shoots her a look.</p><p>“I kid, I kid!”</p><p>Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, but lets it go. She sighs, thunks her head against the wall to the sound of Oikawa’s serve hitting the net and the setter’s subsequent noise of frustration. So troublesome. </p><p>“It’s too bad,” Iwaizumi says, affecting disinterest. “I was hoping I could get you off tonight. You know, pre-match stress reliever.”</p><p>Oikawa pauses and turns again to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes. Her mouth opens and closes. Caught off guard--nice. </p><p>“And I’ve been thinking,” she goes on. It’s not a lie. She has; there’s a reason she sometimes has no answer when she gets called on in class. “Nevermind. Gotta practice, right? I’ll get out of your hair.” She pushes herself off the wall and starts towards the gym exit, Oikawa motionless behind her.</p><p>“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, voice dangerously close to a whine. “What were you thinking?” </p><p>Iwaizumi pauses before the door (though it’s not like she’d have walked out), hums in contemplation. <em>Where to begin</em>. She’s never wanted for imagination when it comes to this. A singular idea--an image--comes to her, and she seizes on it, a slight grin curving her lips. “You know, we haven’t done it in a while.” </p><p>“Done what?” </p><p>“Me, you. Less unnecessary clothing.” Iwaizumi strokes her chin. “My head in your lap. You catch my drift?” </p><p>“Think so,” the setter says, a bit more air in her voice than usual. </p><p>“I keep thinking about it during school, and it’s distracting as hell.” The honesty comes easily to her, even if she’s normally reluctant to fuel Oikawa’s ego. “It’s those damn skirts. You get them two sizes too small, ‘cause you love it when people stare at your legs--”</p><p>“I do <em>not</em>,” Oikawa squawks. </p><p>“--but all I want is to taste what’s under them. You feel me? Under the desk, nasty shit. That’s what I think about.” </p><p>There’s silence behind her. Iwaizumi turns and levels her an easy smile. Oikawa has her hand in the volleyball cart, but she doesn’t make any moves to palm one. </p><p>“Iwa,” Oikawa says. Her eyes are wide and soft, her hair frizzy with flyaways and sweat-slick skin shiny in the unflattering yellow light of the gymnasium. Iwaizumi feels an unbearable surge of greed. </p><p>“Oikawa.” </p><p>Oikawa pulls her lower lip between her teeth, releases it. “I wanna go home with you.” </p><p>“Then come home with me.” </p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>“You can. I told you, overworking yourself won’t do you any good.”</p><p>“But working me up will?” Oikawa says, a teasing note slipping into her voice. She looks away, flushing, as if embarrassed by her own spinal-reflex response. </p><p>“It might.” Iwaizumi grins. <em>Might go so far as to say it’d be mutually beneficial</em>. “You’re tense. Volleyball isn’t the only outlet for that.” </p><p>Oikawa whines, then, sagging against the volleyball cart. “You’re cruel, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>“Only as much as you deserve.”</p><p>“Cruel,” Oikawa repeats without bite. She looks out at the balls scattered on the other side of the gym. “You gonna help me pick these up?” </p><p>“Hell no. Should’ve called it a day before all the first years left.” Iwaizumi lifts the keys from the pocket of her warmups and twirls them around her finger, turning towards the door once again. “Don’t get locked out, captain.”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa doesn’t quite skip as they walk home together, but it’s a close thing. She scuttles out in front of her, walking backwards on the curb with arms teetering on either side and pout fixed on Iwaizumi. </p><p>“You walk too slow,” she complains, again. </p><p>“Now you know how I feel, waiting around for you to wrap shit up.”</p><p>Her pout deepens into a petulant frown. <em>Cute</em>. “It’s not shit, it’s good practice.” She flops off of the curb and resumes walking normally, to which Iwaizumi sighs privately in relief. Last thing Oikawa needs is to break her neck messing around--though, realistically, Iwaizumi would’ve caught her if she started to fall, which isn’t the most horrible image she can think of. “This is just inefficient.”</p><p>“Sounds more like someone’s impatient.”</p><p>“Your fault,” Oikawa singsongs, and she darts a glance back at Iwaizumi. Her lips curve. “Who know Iwa-chan had such a dirty mouth?”</p><p>Iwaizumi bites away her smile and turns her gaze skyward. The night sky is clear, beautiful even. They could stargaze. “Just being honest.”</p><p>“Trashy-Iwa.” </p><p>Iwaizumi sucks her teeth, shaking her head. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it.” </p><p>“I’ll just get creative, then.” Oikawa peers back at her again, smirking, then spins fully around and grabs Iwaizumi’s hand in her own. Her grip is endlessly familiar, calloused and rough. Iwaizumi’s whole spine goes warm. “<em>Pervy</em>-Iwa.” </p><p>“Please don’t kill the mood.”</p><p>“We were having a mood?” Oikawa covers the mocking <em>O</em> of her mouth with her free hand. “Why, Iwa-chan, you should’ve told me!” </p><p>Her hand is hot against Iwaizumi’s, and she swings their arms together the rest of the way home. </p><p> </p><p>They go for Oikawa’s place, with her parents being out on a dinner date or some other convenient excuse. Iwaizumi doesn’t quite like the knowing, raised-eyebrows look her own mom gives her when she explains she’ll be out late studying. Admittedly, she and Oikawa have exactly zero classes together, and they might be, like, <em>dating</em>, but surely they can still <em>study </em>together? The lack of faith is downright uninspiring. </p><p>Iwaizumi pulls her into a kiss the second they’re behind Oikawa’s bedroom door. She tastes sweet, like milk bread and lip gloss. Oikawa makes a fluttery sound of protest and frees her lips from Iwaizumi’s with a <em>smack</em>, and says, flicking on the overhead light, “You wait here, okay? I’ll go take a shower.” </p><p>Oikawa kisses her hairline and unentwines their hands, moving towards the door. Iwaizumi grabs her by the wrist, pulling at her sharply enough to make Oikawa’s eyebrows shoot up. “No. I want you like this.”</p><p>“Hah?” Her lips part, brow crinkling adorably in her confusion. Oikawa’s fair cheeks are still ruddy from practice, and they both stink of sweat and the Aoba Johsai gymnasium. It’s a fair question. “Iwa-chan, I’m gross.”</p><p>“Yeah, and?” Iwaizumi takes her other wrist in hand and draws her closer, Oikawa going with no resistance. “What did you call me? <em>Pervy</em>-Iwa?”</p><p>Oikawa rolls her eyes. This close, Iwaizumi can make out the pale, almost invisible freckles that dance across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. “Of course it sounds stupid when <em>you</em> say it.”</p><p>Iwaizumi suppresses a smirk. This isn’t her home turf, but she’s got Oikawa flustered already. She moves her hands to Oikawa’s hips, slipping her fingers under that obnoxiously tight, pale aqua practice shirt and smoothing them up around the delicate curve of her waist, thumbs caressing her abdominals and making them tense. Iwazumi’s sure she doesn’t imagine the slight shake to Oikawa’s next exhale. “So?”</p><p>“So what?” Oikawa bites her full lower lip and meets Iwaizumi’s eyes, and the heat in her gaze belies her words. </p><p>“You game?”</p><p>She releases her lip, and Iwaizumi stares at it as Oikawa’s mouth curves into a pout. “Fine, I guess.” Shrugging, she tosses her disheveled ponytail over her shoulder. “If you want me so badly you can’t wait fifteen minutes.”</p><p>Iwaizumi grins. She rakes her hands up higher, reaching the hem of Oikawa’s sports bra. Oikawa’s abs tense as the cool air of the bedroom hits her skin. “Lift your arms,” Iwaizumi murmurs.</p><p>“Right.” Oikawa feigns weariness as she complies, but she meets Iwaizumi’s eyes shyly, even hesitantly when the garment’s off. Times like these, Iwaizumi can almost admit bewilderment at Oikawa’s persistent inferiority complex; but she remembers how Oikawa stuffed her bra in middle school, how she used to kiss boys she didn’t like because it felt good to be wanted. In want of her approval, Oikawa rests in the palm of Iwaizumi’s hand.</p><p>“Gorgeous,” Iwaizumi says. </p><p>Flushing a shade darker, Oikawa throws the back of her hand over her mouth and rolls her eyes skyward. “Ugh, you flatterer.”</p><p>“Don’t act like you don’t know, you narcissist.” Iwaizumi pries the hand away and kisses the knuckles, then Oikawa’s lips, simmering at her shaky sigh when they part. “But I’ll sing for my supper if I have to.” </p><p>“What the hell,” Oikawa laughs, shivering as Iwaizumi cups the small of her back and molds their torsos together. Oikawa’s breasts are soft and full against Iwaizumi’s, the mottled gray sports bra--at least a size too small, Iwaizumi is <em>sure</em>--displaying her cleavage like a plated meal. Iwaizumi kisses along Oikawa’s razor-sharp jaw, maneuvering her chin to grant her access to that one marvelously sensitive spot behind Oikawa’s ear. Her spine stiffens beneath Iwaizumi’s fingers when she bites and licks across it. “<em>Nnnn</em>, Iwa-chan.” </p><p>“Salty,” Iwaizumi remarks. She smooches the bolt of Oikawa’s jaw one last time, then meets her eyes, lips curling. “Compliments to the chef.” </p><p>“<em>Cheesy</em>-Iwa.” </p><p>The bedsprings creak as Oikawa falls back on her ass, Iwaizumi following, straddling her captain’s thighs and pressing her into the mattress as she bites off kiss after kiss, licking into her mouth. Oikawa’s breathing heavy, more excited by anticipation than what they’ve actually done. Iwaizumi fits her fingers under Oikawa’s bra and slips it over her breasts, working a rough palm over one and lowering her lips to the other as Oikawa’s warm flesh bounces free. Oikawa whines, wriggling as she pulls her bra over her head, as Iwaizumi gets her teeth around her stiff nipple. She laves her tongue over the areola, then kisses it better, glancing up at Oikawa’s rapt gaze and bitten lips. </p><p>Oikawa’s hair, freed from her teal Aoba Josai scrunchie, tumbles over her shoulders in thick, unkempt waves. Iwaizumi surges up and kisses her again, combing stray locks behind her ears and raking fingers through her hair, then pulling at it, relishing the soft keen it elicits in response. Iwaizumi kneads Oikawa’s breast as they kiss, and feels herself grow wetter at the satisfying weight of it in her palm, the softness of it that’s so at odds with the sharp angles of her hipbones, and the firm, well-trained musculature of her body, lean as a whip. It’s only natural that Oikawa would be blessed with godlike proportions on top of her face, and everything else--lucky for Iwaizumi. </p><p>“You love my tits, huh, Iwa?” Oikawa breathes. “You’re like a baby.”</p><p>“Yours, maybe.” She rakes her claws down Oikawa’s sensitive sides and glowers the way she knows Oikawa likes. Oikawa’s throat bobs on a swallow. </p><p>“Baby. Baby-Iwa.” She lifts her hips, quietly obedient, as Iwaizumi starts to work down her shorts--always short and tight with her, the kind that cling to her ass and make all the boys stare--but leaving her panties in place, wanting to stretch Oikawa’s patience a little thinner. “Gonna eat my pretty pussy?”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls her eyes. “<em>God</em>.” It’d slipped out one time, while Iwaizumi was sweet-talking Oikawa into bed; and for some reason--instead of purring and going limp in her girlfriend’s arms, as she should’ve--Oikawa had instantly burst out laughing. She couldn’t stop, and kept <em>saying</em> it in this ridiculous voice: “Pretty pussy. Hey, Iwa, <em>pretty pussy</em>.” They weren’t able to do it. “Don’t even think about it,” Iwaizumi mutters. </p><p>“Kidding,” Oikawa murmurs. She gets shy again as Iwaizumi pulls her hips closer to the edge of the bed and bends to kiss Oikawa’s navel. “Why <em>there</em>, oh my god.”</p><p>“Because you like it.” Iwaizumi kisses over the soft part of Oikawa’s belly, gripping her waist as Oikawa arches up against her mouth. The muscles jump beneath her lips, betraying sensitivity. Propped up on her forearms, Oikawa tosses her head back and sighs into the quiet of her childhood bedroom. Her nipples stand out hard, rosy and wet where Iwaizumi had kissed them. </p><p>She’s so--Iwaizumi can’t find the words. </p><p>“Can’t stand the way you look,” she says. Oikawa glances at her, curious, and Iwaizumi cups Oikawa’s mound with firm fingers, finding the cotton wet through with her arousal. Oikawa’s mouth falls open. </p><p>“Mean,” she huffs. “<em>Dummy</em>.” Iwaizumi spreads her through her panties and strokes her middle finger up the center of her vulva, and Oikawa’s eyes widen. She clasps a hand over her mouth, and her hips buck, searching for more pressure. Iwaizumi snorts and shifts her forearm onto Oikawa’s thigh, holding her in place.</p><p>“Don’t be greedy,” she chastises, teasing Oikawa slowly, steadily, until more wetness bubbles beneath her fingers. </p><p>“Iwa-chan is so strong.” She must’ve meant it to be cute, but it comes out low and thick with sincerity. Oikawa bites her lip, watching Iwaizumi as she kneels between her legs, Iwaizumi watching her back. “I love that,” she whispers.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Mm-hmm,” Oikawa hums. Averting her eyes, she runs her fingers down her neck and collarbones, contemplative, then grips her own breast, kneading the flesh and rubbing over her nipple the way Iwaizumi had. “Want you to hold me down and fuck me all the time.” </p><p><em>Jesus Christ</em>. Iwaizumi’s sure a muscle twitches in her face. “Dunno if I could. You’re pretty strong, yourself.”</p><p>“You could. I know it.” The words rush out of her on an exhale, and she whines as Iwaizumi’s middle finger glances over her clothed clit. “Touch me, <em>god</em>.” </p><p>“I am touching you,” Iwaizumi replies, smug. </p><p>“On my--” She grits her teeth and moans as Iwaizumi presses two fingers to her clitoris, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. Iwaizumi can feel her hips struggle, but she doesn’t let her move an inch. “Want you pin me to the wall, anywhere, with those fucking <em>arms</em>, tell me you want me and that you can’t wait--”</p><p>“Right now?” </p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Oikawa gasps. “Want your mouth.”</p><p>“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. That, really, is all she needs. She pulls down Oikawa’s panties, letting Oikawa bring her knees together so she can tug them off; then, tossing the garment over her shoulder, she presses Oikawa’s thighs apart and sinks between them. She inhales as she noses over Oikawa’s close-shaven mound, eyes closing in genuine relish. </p><p>“Ugh,” Oikawa complains. Iwaizumi blinks up at her, and licks her lips so Oikawa can see it. </p><p>Iwaizumi keeps her eyes on her as she kisses Oikawa’s cunt, wanting to see her reaction. Her lips come away wet. “Don’t bite your hand,” she cautions as Oikawa plants a fist over her mouth. </p><p>“I wanna…” Cautiously, she threads her fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair, cropped short and spiky with gel. Iwaizumi smirks. </p><p>Oikawa smells stronger than all the other times Iwaizumi’s done this, sweatier and more intense, borderline dirty. Iwaizumi spreads her gently with a thumb and presses the whole front of her face into it, nose against Oikawa’s clit, and her stomach tenses at how <em>hot</em> it is. Oikawa’s whole vulva is soaked, the flavor of her arousal subsuming her tongue as she licks up once, tracking a familiar path between her swollen, fluttering lips. </p><p>The tragic part is that it’s true--Oikawa <em>does</em> have a pretty cunt. She’s puffy and red, viscerally turned on as hell, and Iwaizumi wouldn’t have minded staring at it for hours if they weren’t both a bit desperate. Her fingers dig into the soft meat of Oikawa’s thighs as she licks her out with broad, flat strokes, getting her so wet that she’s dripping. Her clit stands out near-purple and erect, begging for Iwaizumi’s touch. She pauses, and feels Oikawa’s fingers tighten in her hair. </p><p>“Please, right there,” Oikawa begs. “Just a little--”</p><p>Iwaizumi flattens her tongue over the hard nub, and Oikawa moans aloud, no longer biting her lip. She laps over it, savoring each broken whimper like it’s her last meal, then brings out her teeth and sucks, <em>hard</em>, as if Iwaizumi could physically pull the release out of her if she tried hard enough. She hardens her grip on Oikawa’s thighs as her heart beats with anticipation, her own curling, intense need--she has to see it. Has to feel her come apart beneath her lips. </p><p>Wetness floods Oikawa’s cunt as she cums, and she shouts suddenly: “<em>Ah!</em> <em>Iwa!</em>” Her hand slips out of Iwaizumi’s hair, and her thighs shake, threatening Iwaizumi’s hold on her, but Iwaizumi keeps them at bay and sucks her through it, laving her tongue over the sensitive organ until Oikawa starts begging her to stop, which she does--but only after she begs twice. </p><p>Wet like this, Oikawa smells sharper, cleaner somehow. Iwaizumi pulls away and runs a finger through it, collecting fluid from Oikawa’s sticky lips. Her heart threatens to breach her throat. She’s soaked, feels like she’d cum if Oikawa so much as laid her <em>eyes </em>on Iwaizumi’s cunt, or said a few more pretty words. Instead, Iwaizumi presses back into her, lapping up Oikawa’s release with a satisfied groan. </p><p>“Ah, Iwa-chan, you really like it,” Oikawa breathes, giggling. </p><p>“Yeah.” She hums it right over Oikawa’s pussy, and feels right at home.</p><p>“Wow. You’re dirty.” </p><p>“No more than you.” Iwaizumi flicks her eyes up, catching Oikawa’s warm, brown stare, her cheeks now red for a different reason. Her breast heaves, her breathing still unsteady. Iwaizumi’s jaw hardens. She kisses over Oikawa’s cunt again, testing her sensitivity, and Oikawa’s thighs tense. “Want my tongue in you?”</p><p>“Yeah, oh my god.”</p><p>She finds Oikawa’s slit and licks over the entrance, feeling it flutter and spill wetness onto her tongue. The tip of her tongue fits in easily; after cumming once, she’s relaxed, though not quite putty in Iwaizumi’s hands. Oikawa trembles and whines from deep in her throat, hand finding the back of Iwaizumi’s neck. </p><p>“Oh my god, fuck me.” </p><p>Iwaizumi thrusts her tongue deeper, feeling the way Oikawa’s walls close and shiver around the wet muscle. She’s dreamed about getting something bigger in here, buying some kind of toy so she can really fuck Oikawa’s brains out--but even with this, Oikawa’s whining for it within minutes. Oikawa’s been a hypersensitive fuckbunny since they got together, though she’s says it’s only Iwaizumi, that it doesn’t feel the same when she touches herself. And fuck, if that isn’t enough to get through all the dark moments life could ever throw at her. </p><p>Not giving her own tongue or Oikawa’s slit a rest, Iwaizumi starts stroking up and down her vulva with her fingers, then thumbing tight little circles around her clit, just short of where Oikawa wants them. Oikawa swears, kicking her legs up, and Iwaizumi would scold her if she didn’t know she was close; she’d ask her if her tongue wouldn’t be too numb to talk. She plunges as deep inside Oikawa as she can go and scrapes a blunt fingernail over Oikawa’s clit, knowing it’ll be hell on her nerve endings, praying that it makes her mad with pleasure. Oikawa gasps aloud and tenses, back arching as she cums, clenching around Iwaizumi’s tongue as Iwaizumi tongefucks her girlfriend through it. Shuddering, Oikawa collapses against the bed. </p><p>“Please, oh my god, Iwa, that’s enough.” Iwaizumi moves off of her, working her stiff jaw; but Oikawa’s dragging her up into a kiss before either of them can recover, and Iwaizumi goes, laughing, as Oikawa kisses her dirty lips and sucks her tongue, wet with Oikawa’s release, into her mouth. It’s not the first time, but it’s still something. </p><p>Oikawa gives off these high-pitched little hums as she pulls at the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, then wraps her hands around her biceps, appreciating the curve of each muscle, and tugs. Iwaizumi lets herself be pulled atop her, on hands and knees, as Oikawa collapses back onto the bed, hair spilling beneath her and face flushed with satisfaction like the spoiled, too-pretty princess that she is. </p><p>“Why aren’t you naked?” she murmurs as she yanks Iwaizumi down into another dirty, open-mouthed kiss. Half on instinct, Iwaizumi’s knee slots between Oikawa’s thighs, and Oikawa jolts up against her as if shocked. Iwaizumi huffs. </p><p>“Get your hands off me long enough and I will be.” She sits up, twisting off her sleeveless top and bra, loving the way Oikawa’s hot stare vanishes her self-consciousness in an instant. If she isn’t careful, Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa might give her a bit of an ego. </p><p>Since she’s up there, perched on Oikawa’s thighs, she flexes her abs, curling a bicep for good measure. A beat passes, and Iwaizumi feels positively ludicrous.</p><p>“You’re perfect,” Oikawa blurts. Iwaizumi blinks. Oikawa, too, seems surprised by the confession, and she blushes and turns her cheek into the sheets; but she grabs for Iwaizumi’s hands anyway, pulling her down against her until their torsos are flush. “Want you to feel good, too,” she murmurs. </p><p>“Try me,” Iwaizumi says. Oikawa’s lips quirk. And doesn’t Iwaizumi like the look of that. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/winwinism">Twitter</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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